Over the Hills by Christine Comber

Over the hills and far away
   There lies my heart's desire --
Cities washed with morning's gray,
Ships asleep in a foreign bay,
Adventure's breath in old Cathay,
   Or Rome, or Rhodes, or Tyre.

What matter if the golden chase
   End in a mound of clay?
Be it for love, or wealth, or grace.
Or Time's flung wine-glass in my face,   
So be I know what the blue hills trace
   On my heart from far away.  

First published in The Sydney Morning Herald, 13 October 1934

Author reference site: Austlit

See also.